


the sky is green

by renecdote



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crying, Episode Tag, Episode: s04e04 9-1-1 What's Your Grievance?, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29451291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renecdote/pseuds/renecdote
Summary: “Buck?” There is worry in Eddie’s voice, in the careful movements as he steps outside, the door open invitingly behind him. “Are you okay?”Buck shakes his head, wordless. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels caught between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all, mind somehow buzzing and hollow all at once. It’s like standing on a precipice, buffeted by heavy winds, not knowing which way he’s going to fall.“Okay,” Eddie says quietly. “Why don’t you come inside?”Set immediately post 4x04.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 191





	the sky is green

Buck doesn’t know where he’s going. He makes it two blocks from Maddie and Chimney’s apartment before he has to pull over, sitting in his car at the edge of the street, not even sure he’s allowed to park there but too preoccupied to really care.

He has a brother.

He has a _brother_.

Maddie’s words play on a loop in his head. _That’s Daniel. He died. He was our brother._

_He was our brother._

There are things Buck expected from his parents visiting. Anger. Frustration. A sharp drop in all things mental health related. Maddie’s baby box was a surprise. The contents of Maddie’s baby box… Surprise doesn’t feel big enough for that revelation. _Revelation_ doesn’t feel big enough for that revelation. The sky is green, up is down, and Maddie is not his only sibling. Buck isn’t sure whether he wants to scream or cry or—or what. Maddie’s bombshell has flayed him open, left him scrambling to pick up pieces of himself he didn’t even know were there.

His phone buzzes. Buck ignores it. A few minutes later, it buzzes again. And again. And again. He picks it up, a burst of frustration bubbling into action, and is surprised to see Chimney’s name flooding his screen. The first notification is a missed call, the other half dozen are text messages. 

**Are you okay?**

**Okay that’s probably a stupid question but**

**Maddie is worried about you**

**I’M worried about you**

**Don’t do anything stupid, okay?**

Then, just as he’s reading through them a new one comes though: **I’m sorry**.

Buck turns the phone off and throws it in the backseat. His hands are shaking; he clenches them around the wheel. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he can’t stay here. He doesn’t want to go home, can’t face Albert’s curiosity, maybe even worry, or—worse—the cold walls of an empty apartment. He wants—

Buck doesn’t know what he wants.

It’s absurd, maybe, that even though so much of him is angry that he never knew he had a brother, there is one small part that wishes he still didn’t know. If he didn’t know, he wouldn’t feel like—this. Whatever this is. He’s spiralling, circling a slippery drain of self-destruction. 

_That’s Daniel. He died. He was our brother._

_He was our brother._

More than anything, Buck feels… lost.

—//—

“Buck?” There is worry in Eddie’s voice, in the careful movements as he steps outside, the door open invitingly behind him. “Are you okay?”

Buck shakes his head, wordless. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels caught between feeling too much and feeling nothing at all, mind somehow buzzing and hollow all at once. It’s like standing on a precipice, buffeted by heavy winds, not knowing which way he’s going to fall.

“Okay,” Eddie says quietly. “Why don’t you come inside?”

He reaches out, touches Buck’s shoulder, waits for—something. A reaction, maybe, acknowledgement, permission. Buck stares helpless back at him.

“I—“

He falters. The thought that he shouldn’t be here rises up, bitter and all-consuming. Their shift ended hours ago, Eddie has the rest of the day off, and it’s a weekend so Christopher isn’t at school, which means they probably have plans. Buck should have called first or—or just not come. He shouldn’t have come.

Dr. Copeland has been helping with these kinds of feelings. Not belonging; not being good enough; not being able to accept that he is loved as much as he loves. Maybe she’s the one he should be talking to right now. That’s what a therapist is for, right? Helping you navigate challenges and life-altering events. Finding out he has a brother—and that everyone lied to him about it for twenty-six years—is definitely life-altering.

But Buck isn’t sure that he knows how to talk about it. He doesn’t even know how he _feels_ about it. Angry. Upset. Numb. All of them are true, but none of them feel right. He just feels—

Lost.

Even here, standing on Eddie’s front step, he feels lost.

Eddie squeezes his shoulder. “Come inside,” he repeats.

Buck isn’t strong enough to resist. He follows Eddie into the house. Into this _home_ , warm and vibrant, that he is somehow allowed to have. It makes his throat swell with emotion, tears sudden and silent in the way they well up, a couple slipping out before he can catch them. Buck feels like he cries too easily these days. He cried in therapy the other day, he cried after Maddie told him their parents were coming, and he cried after he yelled at them during dinner. He’s crying now, and he’s not even sure why. Is it because he’s loved? Or because he isn’t?

Eddie notices—he has to notice—but he doesn’t say anything. He points at the couch, tells Buck to make himself comfortable, then he disappears into the kitchen. Buck sits on the edge of the couch and listens to the sound of the fridge being opened, the clatter of glasses being removed from the dishwasher, the sound of water running. 

_Mindfulness_ , he hears Dr. Copeland’s voice saying in his head. _It’s a useful technique for dealing with anxiety, among other things. It can help bring you out of your head and back into the world around you._

 _Focus on what you can hear._ Eddie; the fridge door again, glass bottles ratting as it closes.

 _Focus on what you can see._ Eddie’s living room; the TV; Christopher’s drawings on the coffee table.

 _Focus on what you can feel._ The couch fabric; air on his face from the fan; Eddie’s hands, warm, as he presses a cool glass of water into Buck’s hands. Buck takes it automatically, his murmured thanks more reflex than anything else. He takes a sip, clearing his throat before he can ask, voice still croaky, “Chris?”

“Out with Pepa,” Eddie tells him. “They were going clothes shopping, then maybe having lunch with Abuela.”

Buck nods. He’s not sure whether he’s more disappointed or relieved that Christopher isn’t here. On the one hand, Christopher Diaz hugs are a special kind of magic. On the other, Buck isn’t sure he has the energy to pretend that he’s even remotely close to okay, and Chris shouldn’t have to see his meltdown.

Eddie sits beside him, turned slightly to face Buck, their knees pressing together. There is a beat of calm before he says, “Do you want to talk about it?”

From anyone else the words might feel trite. But not from Eddie. Not from the guy who will happily listen to Buck talk for hours about meteorites or nuclear winter or whatever other topic has sucked him into a research spiral that month. Eddie always listens— _really_ listens.

And Buck came here for a reason. He came here chasing _safe_ and _normal_ and _Eddie_ , but maybe he also came here because everything is too much and he feels like he’s going to implode if he doesn’t get some of it out, crushed under a weight heavier than any fire truck. And Eddie always listens. Eddie always helps.

“I have a brother.” It feel surreal, saying the words out loud. Buck looks down at his hands. “ _Had_ a brother, I guess. He died and—and they _lied_ to me, Eds. My whole life—I didn’t even—”

_That’s Daniel. He died. He was our brother._

He’s shaking again, anger and grief and he doesn’t know what, a turbulent combination warring in his chest. Eddie takes the water glass and sits it on the coffee table, grabbing Buck’s hands between his own instead. Buck holds onto the lifeline like he’s drowning and it’s his only hope of keeping his head about water.

“I had a brother and they never told me.”

His voice breaks, splinters, the last shards of everything he thought he knew shattering around him. Maddie—she was a kid, and he’s still mad at her, he doesn’t know how not to be, because he’s twenty-nine years old and he had no idea and she could have fucking told him, but it’s not Maddie’s fault. His parents—

“You know, I always thought my parents didn’t love me,” Buck says bitterly. “But now I know it’s not just that they didn’t love me—it’s that they didn’t want to.”

They didn’t even try to. Maybe they thought they were protecting themselves; maybe they thought they were protecting their kids, who the fuck knows. Buck certainly doesn’t. Nothing he ever did was good enough to be rewarded with something that should have been unconditional. He always thought there were invisible standards he could never measure up to, but now he knows it wasn’t just standards, it was the ghost of a brother he was never allowed to know.

There is pain mixed in with the anger that flashes across Eddie’s face, settling like potential energy in the tensing of his muscles. Like he has to physically stop himself from storming out and beating Buck’s parents to a satisfyingly bloody pulp. There is something almost frantic, urgent, in the forceful of his reply when he says, “Your parents—the way they treated you—it’s not right, Buck. You deserve better than that. You deserve better than them.” And then, before Buck can draw breath to respond, “You _have_ better. You’ve got me, Chris, Maddie, the 118—we love you. We love you so much. You know that, right? You have to know that.”

Buck sucks in a breath that gets stuck somewhere behind his sternum. 

_Why?_ he wants to ask. _Why do you love me? When I’m—_

 _Me_.

It’s the kind of dangerously slippery path he’s been trying not to slide down recently. And he’d been doing so well, staying ahead of all those toxic thoughts, drowning them out with all the positive thinking techniques Dr. Copeland has been helping him with. But now he’s backsliding, tumbling so fast he doesn’t know how to catch himself, everything spiralling out of his control. 

“They’re my parents,” he chokes out. There is a loop in his head, replaying three words over and over: _love me anyway, love me anyway._

Eddie tugs on Buck’s hands until he falls into him, letting Eddie’s chest catch him, Eddie’s arms hold him. “I know,” he murmurs against Buck’s hair. “I know.”

Yesterday, Buck just wanted to hit things. It was easier, being angry. Now, the anger is burning out, spluttering and fizzling until he just feels—tired. Worn out. There are more tears spilling over and soaking into Eddie’s collar, but Buck doesn’t know how because he doesn’t even have the energy to cry properly. He’s just gasping, breath shuddering through empty sobs, shaking apart in his best friend’s arms. He’s been trying so hard to hold himself together, but one hug has been his undoing.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Eddie says, hushed like he hates that he has to admit it. “But I’m here for you. I’m always here for you. Whatever you need—whatever you want—all you have to do is tell me, okay?”

Buck doesn’t know what he needs. But want?

“Distract me,” he says, pulling away from the hug to wipe his eyes. “Please—I just—”

It’s too much, right now. He doesn’t know how to think about it, doesn’t know how to process it. Having a brother, being lied to, the tremor in Maddie’s voice when she told him—it’s all too fresh. Later, Buck will think about it. Later, he’ll make an appointment with Dr. Copeland and talk about it and probably cry some more. But right now—

“Whatever you need,” Eddie repeats.

 _I just need you,_ Buck thinks.

They play video games until Buck’s eyes burn from staring at the screen instead of holding back tears. And when Christopher gets home, Buck gets another magic Diaz hug. It doesn’t fix things—he’s not sure anything can really fix him right now—but it does make them a little bit better. He feels a little less lost, a lot more… loved. And every time he feels himself slipping, getting a little too close to drowning, Eddie is right there with a smile or a comment or a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back up.

The sky is green, up is down, and Maddie is not his only sibling, but this—the Diazes—this always feels right.

“You okay?” Eddie checks in as afternoon moves into evening. Christopher is absorbed in a documentary about zebras and the two of them alone in the kitchen. It’s the kind of quiet, liminal atmosphere that demands honesty. 

“No,” Buck admits. 

But maybe—maybe he will be.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this made even a tiny bit of sense because I basically just poured feelings into my keyboard and this is what came out. Plus editing was minimal because I wanted to get it done before it gets thrown out by canon with Buck Begins.
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. Kudos and comments are love 💛 And you can also find me on tumblr [here](https://renecdote.tumblr.com/).


End file.
